The World According to Amelia
by shephunt
Summary: The world is a great and terrible place, the way she saw it. There was no use trying to explain her perspective to anyone else because they couldn't possibly understand. But maybe, she realized, maybe she'd finally found someone who could make her try.
1. Only Derek Calls Me Amy

"Dr. Shepherd."

Amelia didn't turn around. It wasn't because she hadn't heard her name, or because she was avoiding the person who said it (she was), or because she was simply too busy to respond. Amelia didn't turn around because at Oceanside Wellness, whenever someone said Dr. Shepherd, it was to get her attention. Or to get her opinion. Or to scold her. Or to praise her. But whichever reason it was, they were always talking to her. Here in Seattle, no one was ever talking to her. If someone _was _talking to her, it would be to ask her if she knew where Derek Shepherd, neurosurgical god, was. As though she, a perfectly good neurosurgeon in her own right, wasn't standing right in front of them! No, here in Seattle, everyone wanted Derek or nothing. Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if people just let their patients' brains bleed freely if they didn't get their page answered by Derek Shepherd. It was infuriating, but she was numb to it. That was why she didn't bother turning around.

"Amelia?"

That got her attention just enough to say bitingly, "I don't know where my brother is, nor do I care to find him."

The owner of the voice, Chief Owen Hunt, appeared at her side. He pretended to look over the surgical board with her, but she knew he was eying her in his peripheral vision. That's what they all did.

"Derek's in D.C. this week," Owen told her.

"Wow," she answered sarcastically. "People might actually have to settle for the Other Shepherd for a few days. Or let their patients go brain dead." She shrugged. "I haven't decided which is more likely in the event of the absence of Derek Shepherd, neurosurgical godsend."

Owen was quiet for a minute. A full minute. She counted.

"There's a consult in the pit," he said finally.

She smiled grimly. "Straight to the point. I like it, chief." And with that, she walked away. He was watching her go, she knew he was. They all watched her. All of the time.

Addiction was a funny little thing. It really gave you a solid definition of "conflicted emotional state". It was like when you ended a serious relationship and you hated your ex as much as you still loved him. Nobody wants to be an addict; no one asks for that kind of life. No one wants to get clean and wake up every morning, grateful they got through it but yearning for a relapse because it was so _so _much easier.

The world was dark. It was dark and sad and scary, and there was so much loss. Amelia felt it all. She felt every stinging bit of it, until one day, a friend gave her a tiny little pill. And that pill, it made her happier than she'd ever felt, at least since before she turned five years old and the world went to hell. Because no world where your father gets shot in front of you could be anything but hell. She would've done anything else to improve her quality of life. She even tried praying once, and it would've helped but there is no god. No god would do something that horrible. No god would take a father away from his five year old daughter and her siblings.

The pills took away the pain. The pills did their job for a long time, until one day she got sober. The world was dark again, but it was clearer. Eventually, the world got so clouded and screwed up that the pills had to do their job for her again. But then they stopped doing their job.

Because when you wake up to a dead fiance and give birth to his brainless baby, nothing can fix it. Not even a magic little pill.

That was why they all looked at her. That was why everyone stared. It wasn't because she was a brilliant surgeon (she was, is, always will be), or because she was exceptionally beautiful (she was), or for any other reason than they felt the need to _watch_ her. They were _worried _about her.

And she hated it. She hated him for it.

The consult in the pit wasn't a stumper, but it wasn't fun either. 32 year old male. Brain dead. He caught up with her again afterwards. Chief Hunt, that is, not the brain dead guy. Her mind was racing.

"How's it going, Dr. Shepherd?" He matched her pace as she raced down the hospital hall towards nothing and no one. She walked with purpose towards nowhere.

"Going well, Chief Hunt." He cringed almost imperceptibly, so quickly she wasn't sure it had even happened.

"Consult finished?"

"Brain dead," she answered. "Sucks."

"Have you had lunch yet?"

She paused. "Not hungry today."

"Amelia."

He stopped walking, so she did too, only because he was the Chief of Surgery and she felt she had to. Not for any other reason, not one.

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah," she said, casting her gaze around for something to look at other than him. "Well, I didn't help the matter, did I?"

"You tried. No one else would go near it, and you _tried_…"

"_Trying_…" She let out a deep breath, "doesn't matter. I guess everyone else was right. I took away weeks, months of her life. So trying doesn't really matter anymore."

"Weeks that would have been spent in discomfort, pain, unhappiness…"

"You're just describing _life_," Amelia spat bitterly, abandoning professional courtesy as professionalism had clearly flown out the window from the second this conversation began. "That's how I feel _all the time_, but it's still better than being _dead_. I'm in pain. I'm unhappy. We all feel like we're _dying _sometimes, but we don't actually die. She was dying and I…. I took away weeks. She's not getting those back. She actually _died_. I didn't help."

"You're right," he said, and she would've walked away if he hadn't just shocked her with those two words.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"You're right," he repeated. "You didn't help. Maybe she would've lived a few more weeks. You did take those away. But you gave her something too, Amelia, something she wouldn't have had a few weeks later on her deathbed without _you_."

"Anesthesia?"

He smiled. "Hope."

"That was cheesy as hell," she said.

"Someone had to get you to crack a smile at least once today," he replied.

"I was thinking of getting a burger for lunch," she said.

"Mind if I join you, Dr. Shepherd?"

"Amy." She smiled. "You can call me Amy."


	2. Good Fries Are Hard to Come By

Lunch was awkward. Most things around him were awkward. Amelia was a big believer in the whole "when you find your true love it should be easy" thing, so the awkward wasn't easing her mind. They ate in silence mostly. Despite her eagerness to abandon the awkward aura around them, she racked her brains and still couldn't think of one word to say to the guy. Which was definitely not like her. Not even a little. She officially had no game left.

"Why no fries?"

Nice one, Chief Hunt, she thought. But then, it was more than she was coming up with, to be fair.

"'Why no fries'?" she repeated.

"You're eating a burger," he clarified. "Call me old fashioned, but I think fries go well with burgers."

"Maybe I'm just trying to eat healthy," she remarked. "I am a doctor, after all."

"Then I guess my question should be why the burger, huh?"

She smiled. Only a little. "I guess I don't play by the rules."

"Ah."

They fell quiet again and she almost groaned. Talking about their food was better than saying nothing. But she couldn't talk about fries, she couldn't.

A minute passed.

"Good fries," she said finally, "are hard to come by."

"Hospital fries not good enough for the great Amelia Shepherd?"

"Are you saying the chief of surgery has control over cafeteria fries? You could get some decent fries in here?"

"No," he said. "I'm saying I should take you out somewhere that has better fries."

She paused. Too long.

"Classy," she answered, covering up her hesitation with sarcasm.

"We could go somewhere nicer," he answered seriously. "Steak, seafood, bottle of wine…"

"Sober," she said. "I'm sober."

"Right, that's...right."

They fell quiet again. Then, mercifully, his pager went off. 911 in the ER. He held it up apologetically, but she understood. She really did.

"Go," she said. "Save lives. We can't all have long lunches to devour burgers because everyone prefers our older brother, can we?"

He smiled absently and stood, pulling on his lab coat. He made to walk away, then turned back. She looked up.

"You're better than Derek Shepherd."

"No, I'm not."

"Maybe not. But you will be. You take more risks. You have more hope in the darkest of places because you know what it's like to be there and you know you can get them out of it. He used to… He was more like that before, but he isn't now." Owen paused. She stared. "He could stand to be a little more like you, Amelia. We all could."

"A former addict with daddy issues?" She smirked.

Owen smiled. "Yeah."

He left.

And then, not because she was a great neurosurgeon or a good role model but because Derek Shepherd was in D.C., her pager went off as well.

Several hours later, she was scrubbing out of surgery. The page had been for an emergency craniotomy, but the procedure had been straightforward and the patient survived. For a minute, she felt a high and she almost smiled. She almost couldn't remember the feeling of losing a patient. She almost couldn't remember the last patient she had lost. Until she did.

Owen Hunt walked in.

He looked at her, smiled, and began to scrub.

"Finishing or starting?" he asked.

"Finishing," she said.

"How'd it go?"

"Went good. Craniotomy. Easy. I'm good." And then, because it sounded harsher than she'd intended, she asked, "Finishing or starting?"

"Finishing. Same guy I got paged for earlier. He didn't make it."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It happens," he said.

"I know, but I'm still sorry."

Owen looked at her. "Thanks."

And then, not because his eyes were too blue or because he wouldn't stop staring right at her with them or because he looked at her in a you're-the-most-amazing-person-in-the-world way but because she was Amelia Shepherd and had some important, badass neuro stuff to do, she nodded and walked out.


	3. We Keep This Love in a Photograph

It was hard to tell what love was when it always looked so different, so Amelia was never sure when the first moment she felt it was. She was fairly certain she'd been in love at least two times. There were other times she thought she had been in love, but she'd really truly felt what she thought love was a total of two times.

First, there was Ryan.

This one was the hardest and the one she questioned most often, but she still counted him because it felt disrespectful to not. She'd really believed she'd finally figured out what love felt like when she fell for Ryan. She'd been so much less broken then. She'd still been hurt, sure, but she hadn't felt quite as destroyed in the Before than now, in the After. Ryan was the first man she seriously considered marrying. She wanted kids with him, all sorts of kids. Lots of kids. She'd given him her father's watch.

_I was hiding the penny my dad had just given me. I hid all my pennies in the floorboards. I was saving them so I could buy a town. Two guys walked into the store. They'd taken all the money. Now they wanted his watch. They had a gun._

_I tried to scream and my brother Derek put his hand over my mouth._

_Two guys shot my dad for his watch. I was five years old._

_I've never told anyone that before. That's not your story to tell. He's not your dad, he's my dad, that's not your story to tell._

_Two guys shot my dad for his watch._

She felt different with Ryan Kerrigan than she'd felt with anyone else. She really believed she'd figured out what love was supposed to feel like. But then again, maybe it was just the drugs.

Second, there was James.

She loved James; she was sure of it in the same way she was sure of herself when she cut into someone's brain or diagnosed a tumor. She was sure. She was confident. She loved James.

_You ask me out and you look at me like we're the same age and we could have fun. And I might have made the same mistake if I were you, but we're not the same age; I'm about a hundred years older than I look._

_There's this place he goes every Friday. A sports bar. He's there every week. They have the best fries you've ever tasted. So, it's not a date, but if you show up, he'll be there._

_Good fries are hard to come by._

James fixed her. She knew it. Maybe that's why she fell in love with him. She'd been so incredibly broken, in the way where you felt if you went near any other human beings, you'd infect them with all of the brokenness and sadness inside of you, and he healed her wounds. That was his job, to fix people broken beyond repair. He was an ER doc.

Love looked different every time she found it, and that was why she was never the first one to say it out loud. Because she was never quite sure in the beginning.

A Tuesday. Surgical wing. Evening. Quiet.

Amelia was leaning against the nurse's desk finishing up a chart. She hadn't eaten since breakfast and was very seriously contemplating binge eating everything in the refrigerator at home (salsa, beer, and waffles) since her shift was over in twenty minutes. She didn't know the nurse sitting in front of her by name, but she looked up when she spoke.

"Hello, Chief Hunt."

He nodded at her politely and rested an elbow on the desk, turned toward Amelia. She pretended not to notice and kept finishing up the chart. He addressed the nurse instead.

"Would you mind going to room 813? My patient in there was complaining about not getting dinner yet and I just wanted to make sure everything got sorted out."

"Of course Chief Hunt." The nurse scurried off.

"Dr. Shepherd…."

"Chief Hunt." She continued writing.

"I don't suppose you have plans for dinner tonight?"

"I do," she said, "have plans. Big plans. Huge. Monumental."

"Pizza?" he guessed.

She paused. Stopped writing. "Waffles," she admitted.

"Toppings?" he asked.

"Either salsa or beer," she answered and he laughed. "Meredith doesn't like to shop much. Neither do I."

"Enjoy your momentous dinner of beer waffles, Amy."

She smiled. "Thank you." She hesitated, then finished, "Owen."

She decided to go with the salsa instead.

The same Tuesday. The Shepherd house. Later in the evening. The doorbell rings.

Meredith was on call and the kids were at the daycare. Amelia was home alone.

It was Owen.

"What's up?"

"Well," he said, "I live in the trailer in your backyard-"

"My brother's backyard," she corrected.

"Your brother's backyard. And I was thinking, why should we both spend the evening alone when we're practically neighbors?"

"That sounds reasonable," she answered.

"Great," he said. "So I was thinking it over on the way here…"

"During the five minutes it took you to walk over?"

"During the five minutes it took," he agreed. "And I think I'll take beer on my waffle. I'm not one for spicy food, but I love a good beer."

She smiled. A real one.

"How about a plain waffle and a beer on the side?"

"Even better," he said.

Love looked different every time she found it; that was why she never said it out loud first. It didn't look like either of her previous two experiences right now, that she was sure of. But as she watched this man sit at the kitchen table across from her and dip a chunk of his waffle into a beer, she was even more sure of him.


End file.
